


The Kettering Incident

by helvel



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Bondage, Edgeplay, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24192127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helvel/pseuds/helvel
Summary: It’s 1877 and Dutch and Hosea are in prison. Yeah, that ain’t going to last long.
Relationships: Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 10
Kudos: 50





	The Kettering Incident

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the newspaper scrap about young Dutch and Hosea escaping from prison, leaving behind a bound, naked, and very embarrassed Sheriff Carmichael :)

They’d been the talk of Kettering since they turned up some two weeks past - Mister Mackintosh and Mister Kilgore - what fine gentlemen they were, well spoken, well dressed, well-to-do. They represented a shipping company in Portugal, and had come to the United States looking for new investors. Shares were selling fast, they said, and an opportunity like this would not be available for long. 

Sheriff Carmichael had a nose for things that smelled suspicious, and this was one of them. It only took a bit of investigation for the whole thing to unravel at the seams. Real as they spun their story, real as their documents looked, written all in ‘Portuguese’ - it didn’t take long to figure out there was no such place as Portugal. They’d already swindled hundreds of dollars into their pockets by that point, but the law caught up to them, as it always did with degenerates like these. 

Fraud is the charge that Carmichael brought them in on, but that isn’t all, isn’t all by far. 

“Don’t get too comfortable, gentlemen,” Carmichael informs the two criminals in the cell. “You ain’t going to be here for much longer.” 

One of them shrugs. “That’s true.” 

“It’s going to be the noose for you. Don’t think I don’t know who you are. Got Dayton to send down the papers soon as you two started sniffing around here.” Carmichael grins as he looks between the two of them. “Dutch Van der Linde and Hosea Matthews. In my jail cell!” 

These two are as bad as they come, with a bounty five hundred miles in any direction. Carmichael knows their type. Matthews is the brains of the operation, the driving force behind all their schemes, slippery as a snake and twice as dangerous. Van der Linde, the lackey, has the looks and charisma, able to draw in folk like moths to a flame, all tall, dark and handsome. Truth be told, Carmichael prefers Matthews on that front, with his sharp cheekbones and pale, piercing eyes. Not that Carmichael would have those thoughts about a prisoner. Just, if circumstances were different, perhaps... 

Carmichael shakes his head to clear it. All sorts of odd ideas have been jumping into his thoughts lately, ever since his dear Henry had set out on that wild dream to be a bounty hunter and left Carmichael all alone. 

He’s drawn from his contemplations by the sound of Van der Linde and Matthews whispering to one another. 

“Quit that!” Carmichael snaps. They draw apart, turning blank looks at him. 

“Sure thing, Sheriff,” Matthews says. 

Carmichael sneers and returns to his desk, sitting down and picking up his newspaper. There will be an article about the arrest tomorrow. Not just in the Kettering Times, mind you. Sheriff Montgomery Carmichael’s arrest of the criminals Dutch Van der Linde and Hosea Matthews will be printed in newspapers across the Midwest states. They came easy, too, not even a shot fired. The degenerates were smart enough to know when they were beaten, and it was Carmichael who beat them in the end. 

Pride is not a sin that Carmichael often allows himself to indulge in but he’ll make an exception for today, smiling as he twirls the end of his long mustache. He flips down the top of his paper to get another look at the infamous criminals in his cell. 

For a moment, Carmichael is so shocked that he can’t speak, because Van der Linde and Matthews are kissing. 

“... _Quit that!_ ” he shouts at them. They don’t listen. Matthews tugs at the front of Van der Linde’s vest to pull him closer, and Van der Linde leans into him with a soft sigh. “... I said _quit!_ ” 

After a long moment spent gazing into each other's eyes, Van der Linde turns to face Carmichael. 

“What are you going to do about it, Sheriff Carbuncle?” he asks, “ _Hang us?_ ” 

“That’s Car _michael._ ” Carmichael scowls at them, fully aware his face is red as a tomato. Hang them… course he ain’t, not for that anyway, Carmichael would be on the end of that noose as well, but they can’t be allowed to continue. “Prisoners aren’t to be fraternizing.” 

Matthews' eyebrows knit up, imploring. “Sheriff, please. This is our last day together on this earth. Let us have this, one last time.” 

The honest desperation on his face makes Carmichael’s chest twinge. _You’ve always been a fool,_ was what Henry had said to him, fond as anything when they had their own last time together. These two might be criminals, but they’re partners in more than just crime, and Carmichael hesitates to deny them this. He waves a dismissive hand. 

“Go on, then,” he mumbles. 

He returns to his newspaper, but finds it near impossible to focus with the soft sounds coming from the cell. He stares very hard at an article about a sheep in Illinois that’s been trained to speak in full sentences. Fascinating stuff they can do these days. It ain’t fascinating enough, though, when a low moan comes from the cell, and Carmichael carefully peeks over the top of the newspaper. 

What he’s not expecting to see is Van der Linde sprawled out on the narrow cot, shirt off and used to bind his hands to the cell bars, with his hard cock out and Matthews slowly stroking it. Van der Linde moans, tossing his head to the side. Matthews is the very picture of control, every movement measured in slow, steady strokes. He’s got Van der Linde teetering on the edge, and as the man’s noises jump in timber as he nears the edge - Matthews takes his hand away. 

Carmichael jumps to his feet. “For God’s sake!” he snaps, feeling a sympathetic ache at Van der Linde’s distress. “Let him finish, you degenerate, even you can’t be so cruel!” 

Matthews only grins with the slightest twitch of lips. Surprisingly it’s Van der Linde who speaks, with a throaty chuckle. “Our friend here has something to learn about how _cruel_ you can be.” 

“Suppose he does,” Matthews agrees. 

“You can’t mean to just leave him like that,” Carmichael insists. 

“Oh, I do. For a while yet.” Matthews runs his fingertips up Van der Linde’s cock with only the lightest pressure. It’s still enough to make Van der Linde groan, straining as he is. “Keep him right on the edge like this.” 

Carmichael’s thoughts are spinning. Is that denial really pleasurable? Or is it not - is that the point? Folk enjoy all sorts of strange things, Hell, those intricate patterns of rope Henry loved to tie over him weren’t for polite company at all, but always held just the right sort of sting. Like this, Matthews holds complete control over Van der Linde, cool and collected in a way that's undeniably appealing. 

“It… feels good?” Carmichael asks. 

“Feels awful,” Van der Linde says, “in the most glorious way. And let me tell you, Carbuncle, when he finally lets you get over that edge…” Van der Linde hums in pleasure, a far-away look on his face. “It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.” 

He’s got no reason to lie about it. He wouldn’t be able to spin a story in the state he’s in, anyway - panting, red faced, desperate. In Matthews’ hands entirely… 

Carmichael stalks to the front window of the Sheriff's Office and peers out into the street. Folk are going about their day, no idea what’s going on in here. Carmichael tugs the curtains closed and locks the door, then does the same for the back door. He returns to the edge of the cell and lays his hands against the bars, mostly to steady himself. 

“Keep going,” he tells Matthews. 

Van der Linde chuckles. “Go on, Hosea, you better do as he says.” 

Carmichael watches again as Matthews takes Van der Linde in hand, slow and loose strokes that go on forever, while Van der Linde strains and pants. Climax is, apparently, a destination not to be reached. Matthews’ slow, careful torturing continues, until Van der Linde starts cursing, back arched up. 

It can’t be… Matthews can’t mean to… 

He does. Matthews takes his hand away, calm as anything, and Van der Linde outright sobs. Sweat has his hair curling around his face and he’s flushed from cheeks to cock. He looks like a wild thing, barely tamed, and at the complete mercy of Matthews’ whims. 

Carmichael’s cock feels like it’s about to burst through the front of his pants. 

With that knowing smirk, Matthews turns to him. “Suppose you’ve got some new ideas to go home and try with the missus. I could give her a few tips, if there’s time before you hang me tomorrow.” 

Carmichael jumps at being addressed when he’d been so entranced, but he quickly gathers himself and shifts to hide his straining erection. “ _Erm._ There ain’t no missus, as such.” 

Matthews’ eyebrows draw up with that startling honesty again. “Oh dear. You really can’t do it alone and get the same effect.” Van der Linde lets out a strained huff of agreement. “Hm, I’ll tell you what, Sheriff. I’ll help you out.” 

Carmichael tries to swallow against his heart jumping into his throat. “... Help me out?” 

“That’s right.” Matthews stands, takes a few steps closer to the edge of the cell where Carmichael stands. He’s a good few inches shorter than Carmichael, but the look on his face makes Carmichael feel like he should be sinking to his knees. “We owe you one, anyway. Would have never stopped our wicked ways if you hadn’t brought us in.” 

The firm press of Matthews’ hand against the front of his pants is startlingly wonderful. It’s been ages since anyone’s touched him like this… 

A moment later, Carmichael’s senses return and he jumps back out of Matthews’ reach. 

“Keep- uh, keep your hands inside the cell,” he stammers, looking like a prize fool standing there red-faced with his cock straining against the front of his pants. 

Another chuckle comes from Van der Linde. 

“If you’re sure,” Matthews tells him, smiling. He glances over his shoulder. “Now if you don’t mind, Sheriff, I’ve got to get back to my partner over here.” 

Matthews returns to Van der Linde, sitting on the edge of the cot and just looking over him for a moment, fingers tracing up over his thighs. 

"You’re a wicked, wicked man," Van der Linde says, shivering under his gaze. 

Desperation builds much more quickly when Matthews takes Van der Linde back in hand. It's no time at all before Van der Linde is writhing and groaning again. 

"Close," he warns, "Hosea, I'm close-" 

Matthews hushes him and strokes him through it, making a soft, pleased sound as Van der Linde lets out a shout. It's like nothing Carmichael has ever seen before. His whole body goes rigid, bound hands clutching at nothing while semen spurts up all the way into his chest hair. On and on, the pleasure seems to go. Carmichael swears he sees a tear in Van der Linde's eye when Matthews finally releases him. 

Matthews turns his pale gaze back to Carmichael. Carmichael has made up his mind. 

"Stay where you are," he says, taking the cell key from his belt, "hands where I can see them." 

Van der Linde can't do much, bound as he is, but Matthews raises his hands up. Unlocking the cell, Carmichael grabs the coil of rope from the wall as he steps inside. 

"You, stay over there," he tells Van der Linde, "and you, listen. This key stays in my hand, no matter what happens." He lifts his fist, clutching the cell key against his palm. 

It sets his heart thrumming as Matthews looks him up and down, rather like he's sizing up new prey. 

"Of course, Sheriff," he agrees. "Why don't you go ahead and get undressed." 

Carmichael works open the buttons of his jacket with trembling hands while Matthews pulls over the rickety chair in the cell. He beckons for Carmichael to sit. Naked, Carmichael does so, and offers his wrists to be tied. 

"You just remember what I said," he tells Matthews, "no one takes this key from me." 

Matthews nods as he secures the knots. The bite of the rope sends a tingle down Carmichael's spine. It's been too long. He lets Matthews pull his bound wrists behind him to secure them to the back of the chair, then binds his ankles as well. Matthews doesn't miss the pleased little shiver from that. His smile is like a fox's as he settles on his knees between Carmichael's spread legs. 

"You tell me if you're about to spend. Wouldn't want this to end too soon." 

Carmichael hasn't softened at all since he first saw the two of them at this, and he groans as Matthews wraps a hand around him. The slow, loose strokes feel better than expected. It brings him closer, not the fast pursuit that Carmichael usually chased, but slow and deliberate. Van der Linde watches them with heavy-lidded eyes, so sated that he looks like he's about to doze off. 

Seconds and hours pass until he's teetering on the edge. Surely it's at least another hour that Matthews teases him at that tipping point, so close to spending, until Carmichael can't take it anymore. 

"Please, please, let me, _n-nooo_..." 

Matthews chuckles as he takes his hand away. Carmichael sags against the bonds and whimpers. He opens his eyes (when had he closed them?) to look at Matthews between his knees, so calm and collected. Matthews' fingers drum against his thigh, tantalizing even if it doesn't bring him closer. It was horrible to be denied in that moment, and that he might be put through that again... 

Carmichael has barely caught his breath before it starts all over. 

He's so Goddamned desperate to spend that he feels like he's bursting at the seams. Pleas tumble out of his mouth, words he barely knows bleeding together into one long stream. He can't think of anything but the pleasure-pain he feels everywhere, from the bite of the rope binds to the incredible sensitivity in his cock as Matthews continues his endless torture. Again he stops, and Carmichael's soul leaves his body. Again he starts, and Carmichael is right back on the edge again. 

He's near losing his mind. He needs to spend, needs it more than he needs to breathe... 

Matthews grip tightens and it's like a dam bursts. Carmichael's vision whites out as he comes, and comes – he can't stop, limbs jerking with the force of it, bound as they are. 

When he comes to again, Matthews has taken Carmichael's handkerchief from his pants pocket on the floor and is using it to wipe his hands clean. That will be one Hell of a souvenir to keep after these two are hanged. Carmichael must be in some sort of euphoric state, because he doesn't mind the two criminals much at all right now. 

"Suppose I owe you two a thank you. That was..." Carmichael trails off, at a loss to describe it. "Seems a shame you're set to hang, but there isn't much I can do about it unfortunately." 

Van der Linde regards him from where he's buttoning his shirt back on. "Oh, of course, Carbuncle. You're only doing your job." 

He takes a step closer, and that particular look in his eye makes fear well up in Carmichael's chest. 

"Hey, now, we had a deal-" 

He clenches his fist, but the cell key is no longer there. Real panic sets in. Van der Linde draws closer, and there's a light _clink_ as he picks up the key off the floor. 

"Lost your grip on it when you spent. Same thing happens to me, losing control like that. It's..." He waves a hand as if he's reciting poetry. "Indescribable. One of the most intense sensations you'll ever experience." 

"Listen, we had a deal-" 

" _Carmichael,_ " Van der Linde says. It's the first time he hasn't used that stupid nickname. "You were the one who brought us in here on fake stock sales. Don't you have an idea what kind of deals we make?" 

Carmichael jerks against his bonds. "Untie me. _Now._ Or you ain't going to like what happens!" 

"Nice meeting you, Sheriff," Matthews says, "been a pleasure." 

They let themselves out of the cell with the key, for all accounts looking like they'd just stopped by for a quick drink. 

" _Stop! By order of the law!_ " Carmichael shouts after them. He might as well not have said it at all for the way they ignore him, chatting easy as anything as they stroll to the back door. 

"Next time we're sticking to my idea," Matthews says. 

"The plan worked, didn't it?" 

"Sure, and you were the one who got off from it, and all I've got is a sore arm." 

"I'll make it up to you later." 

"You'd better." 

The door closes behind them as they step out of the Sheriff's Office. Carmichael stares after them. 

This can't be real... It must be some sort of nightmare... 

Carmichael struggles to heft his weight back and forth until the chair tips over. He lands on his shoulder hard, but the impact splinters the chair so he can get his arms free, even if his wrists and ankles are still bound together. With some struggle, he worms his way over the floor to the cell door. 

Those bastards locked it. Of course they did. Why wouldn't they? Carmichael had all but given them the key. 

Henry was right... he really is a fool. Carmichael knows that now. Whoever finds him like this is going to know it too. 

* * *

Carmichael has always avoided posting bounties in Kettering, but he knew where to find a bounty hunter when needed. He could have his pick of the ones that camped out around Dayton, but there's one in particular he’s searching for. 

He sees the horse first; a bay stallion with a white blaze marking. As expected, there's that familiar old brown hat with a red feather in it. 

The bounty hunter looks up from cleaning his rifle as Carmichael approaches his campfire. 

Henry nearly drops the rifle. He jumps to his feet, hurriedly straightening his clothes while staring at Carmichael like he can't believe his eyes. 

"Monty..." he breathes. He's handsome as ever, hair slicked back and beard well-kept despite life on the road. "What are you doing out here?" 

"I've got a job for you." 

"I've never known you to post bounties." 

"Things have changed." 

Carmichael hands over the bounty poster for Van der Linde and Matthews. A hundred dollars for each of them, or two hundred and fifty for both. The poster had been sent down from Dayton when the criminals first started sniffing around Kettering, on Carmichael's request, which just deepens the sting. 

Henry looks over the poster and lets out a low whistle. 

"Pretty high bounties on these two. They ain't really a one-man job." 

"No, I don't expect so." 

Henry's jaw drops as he looks up at Carmichael. "Monty, you don't mean..." 

Carmichael can't show his face in Kettering, not after what happened. Not without bringing in the justice he should have served. 

"You and me, Henry. We'll hunt down these two degenerates," he says, " _together._ " 


End file.
